


Every You, Every Me

by Ewok_Poet



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Drabbles, Gen, Poetry, drabbletry, drablem, poem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-02 23:49:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10230812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewok_Poet/pseuds/Ewok_Poet
Summary: They told me drabbles are limited by 100 words. So, I wrote some to test myself because I'm typically writing these 2K-5K story chapters. What happened was some mix up between drabbles and poetry, in form of character studies.I will be posting these in the order I write them, five per week. I have enough for a month so far, let's see what happens next.





	1. The Force Awakens - 1st set

**Helmet**  
  
Stormtroopers. New Order’s Soldiers. Most of them in plain white with black accents, only selected few with a red pauldron signifying their ranking.  
  
And then, there she is, with her shiny, darksilver armour.  
  
So many soldiers doubt that there, in fact, was a woman behind that helmet. There had been this rumour that she was, in fact, a droid, or that somebody had used a synthetic voice for a man in order to confuse the underlings that the First Order had been more accepting of female soldiers.  
  
But the woman behind the helmet has the power none of them do.  
  


***

  
**Mask**  
  
His most prized possession. He was never sure about its authenticity and if there was anything below a layer of melted plastoid and remains of a breathing apparatus.  
  
But he wanted to believe.  
  
He had to believe in something – his mother was too busy with the betrayal of her former allies, his father secretly yearned for the freedom of his past, his uncle searched the stars for clues to an order brutally destroyed.  
  
All wrestling the ghosts of the past. Nobody to turn to.  
  
He ended up battling the fiercest of all ghosts.  
  
And disfigured mask formed a disfigured picture.  
  
  


***

  
**Green**  
  
The colour she had only seen in an alien or two and heard about from the kind of spacers not coming to Jakku all that often, it was now surrounding her.  
  
Giving her monochrome life a new meaning.  
  
Making her realise how young she actually was, something she often kept forgetting.  
  
Showing her the kind of a vibrant world that she could only see in her dreams.  
  
But it was only when she rushed down the cobble stone stairway that she began to realise that this was not a dream.  
  
And green stood for lives that she was to save.  
  
  


***

  
**Leather**  
  
He knew that animals were stripped off their fur and leather once killed. Such was the cruel, bloody world, where he had previously been a mere product himself.  
  
He had nobody to tell him fairy-tales and comfort him by telling him that there had been so many cursed maidens, princes and foundlings saved once somebody had given them new clothing.  
  
Walking towards the scattered tents, he was convinced he had lost the only life he knew and the stranger he had just saved.  
  
But he had gained an identity beyond just a number and garment not produced for cannon fodder.  
  
  


***

  
**Hibernation**  
  
Tucked away in a dark corner, he dreamed of the world where he would be awoken again, like the ruins of a town lost to time, like a story a refugee forgot to bring along, holding onto dear life.  
  
He used to save the day. He bore many battlescars and they were all there, no polish could have ever removed them. He was often the only sane man – in lack of a better term – of the bunch. And then he withdrew.  
  
But he was not gone.  
  
He was waiting for the day he was going to chart the stars again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wrinkles #1**

  
He was more likely to notice hers than she was to notice his.  
  
In reality, he had been a decade older and had lead a far rougher life. There must have been things that she never found about, or wanted to, in the first place.  
  
But had she asked him, perhaps she could have finally cracked that hard nut, locked him open and found out that each wrinkle represented a yearning for a life she never had to live, or a worry for the one they could not save.  
  
The last time she held him, she could see only his crow’s feet.  
  


*******

 

**Wrinkles #2**

  
He had memorized every wrinkle on her face – from the first that had appeared when she smiled in that chilly passage, to the deepest one upon their son’s betrayal, the one he could not even see, for her had not been blessed by the gift she had, but he still knew that it had been there.  
  
These wrinkles used to be something to tease her about, alongside comments that he had had far less of them. But once the mysterious girl brought them together again, her wrinkles were more beautiful than ever. And it was like their embrace flattened them.  
  


***

 

**Silver**

  
With silver in his hair came stories of times less idealistic than he had previously thought. Cracks in silverware of the old system’s perfection. The silverscreen of how things used to be and what the heroes were like, ripping apart before his eyes.  
  
It became clear to him that those whose honour he fought to restore, those he almost gave his life to avenge were nowhere near as idealistic. They had been creatures of habit, driven by rules and frightening shackles discipline narrowing their views.  
  
If only there had been a balance between their hard ways and his soft touch.  
  


*******

 

**Mother**

  
She would not have approved of his you-only-live-once attitude. That much he knew and each time he had way too much fun, she had been on his mind. She would have probably said that it was so obvious that he had been raised by his father, silently denying her own mischievous strike from back in the days.  
  
But that night, running through the maze of evil, he felt her pulse in his veins, her heart beating inside of his own, her fighter’s engine pushing him forward.  
  
She would have been proud of the son she could not be there for.  
  


*******

 

**The Foil**

  
Balancing on a thin line between the holographic blue and jet black, he could feel his reds fade, but he had never been the one to show his weaknesses to anybody. The rules were simple – there were none and his life was like walking on a wire, with fire underneath his feet.  
  
How does one give orders to masses when an embodiment of chaos controls you and a distorted figure controls both of you from a safe, faraway place?  
  
He took a deep breath, stepped into the open and raised his hand. The masses, after all, couldn’t sense his struggles.


	3. Chapter 3

**Calling**  
  
She had seen it all, to the point where no being other than herself could impress her, ever, to the point where her own eyes no longer mattered. After all, she had to close them to crowds of swindlers, lowlifes, ladies of the night and those who only dwelt underground.  
  
But a girl so simple, whose look in her deep brown eyes made her believe that she was in love with the world, reminded her of what she was there for. Suddenly, her senses were elevated. Everything that mattered was the light calling to the next to carry the torch.  
  
  


*******

  
  
**Rage**  
  
He knew that this had nothing to do with him. Although he made them all members of his family, Humans were ground-dwellers and thus further away from the stars and unable to grasp the idea of him being a member of their family. He could have intervened. He could have protected his savior and mentor with his own venerable body, but it had been too late. The platform was narrow and one had to fall – the one he swore to protect.  
  
Traitors were not to be a part of his family. His rage had the power of thousands of stars.  
  
  
  


*******

  
  
  
**Roll**  
  
Roll. Though he had never been a gambler.  
  
Roll. Though he had never been the one to wander around mindlessly.  
  
Roll. Roll. Roll. At some point, there had to be a creature worthy of carrying his message, capable of engaging in the horrors he had seen without losing that thing they referred to as life.  
  
Net. Temporary immobility. Destination unknown. Undetermined location. Safety threatened.  
  
And then, there she was. As lonely as he had been, lost in the desert, with no signs of her Masters.  
  
Mission was to be accomplished. They just had to keep on rolling, rolling, rolling.  
  
  
  


*******

  
  
  
**Bystander**  
  
Bystander, even if he was rarely ever on standby.  
  
A stuntman, even though he was not a man.  
  
Anxious, even though anxiety was not a part of the official package.  
  
That is what happens when you’re an advanced universe’s equivalent of a wooden doll that has come alive, but will never become a real boy.  
  
Still, he senses – in a very broad sense of that word – that this time, he is not going to be close to action. But he wants to leave his mark.  
  
That may mean interrupting, being where you are not wanted and panic. And more panic.  
  
  
  


*******

  
  
  
**The Brute**  
  
He devotes his greymatter to rationing grey matter to those less fortunate than him. Eyes so small that one can never know what he thinks. Presence quite frightening. Demeanor of a brute. Manners of a slaughterer.  
  
He is standing between the beggars on what used to be a beach of gold and the little that they need to survive. He is making sure that they will depend on him and never want to leave, though there might be a true beach of gold waiting for them somewhere.  
  
Nobody’s fate should be in his hands. But he starved everybody into submission.


End file.
